


Under The Weather

by DumpsterSellout



Series: Any Way The Wind Blows [2]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Sick Deaky, Sickfic, again theres p much no plot its mainly just fluff n nonsense again, emetophobic deaky, freddie literally wants to be a mum fight me on this, he's still got emetophobia, it's just sick babies and fluff, maybe a lil angst in there, poor Deaky, u guys it's deakys turn im excited, uni days ofc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-15
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-18 13:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18121520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DumpsterSellout/pseuds/DumpsterSellout
Summary: John was just tired, that was all. He’d been exhausted for a few days, with a bit of a scratchy throat and a runny nose, but he’d managed to push through alright, so far. He was starting to find it hard to stay upright the past couple of days, let alone awake, and he’d gone to bed quite early a few nights in a row. It was beginning to become obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to just push through whatever he was coming down with like he’d originally planned.John is sick, Freddie wants nothing more than to smother him with love and affection.





	1. Late

**Author's Note:**

> Well howdy  
> I know what ur thinking: don't u have two other fics that aren't done yet that u should post first?  
> You'd be 100% right on that, but i've started new meds to raise my BP and theyve also raised my tolerance for not giving a fuck about anything. it is 5am here, i havent slept more than like six hours in two days, and i wanted to write sick deaky to numb the pain of life. it kinda worked  
> Also it might be kinda a christmas fic?? maybe? because its may but fuck you it's cold in australia and i want a white christmas  
> Anyway you all asked for it so plz enjoy

John was just tired, that was all. He’d been exhausted for a few days, with a bit of a scratchy throat and a runny nose, but he’d managed to push through alright, so far. He was starting to find it hard to stay upright the past couple of days, let alone awake, and he’d gone to bed quite early a few nights in a row. It was beginning to become obvious that he wasn’t going to be able to just push through whatever he was coming down with like he’d originally planned.

He’d woken up to his alarm on a Tuesday, feeling like he couldn’t even open his eyes.  He wished it wasn’t a Tuesday. Friday would have been much more preferable. He didn’t have to get up and do anything on a Friday, he could spend the entire day doing whatever he liked, and then have Saturday and Sunday to recover with his friends. But it wasn’t a Friday, it was a Tuesday, which meant he had to spent  _ at least _ the morning at university, the afternoon as well, if he cared enough to go to lectures, which he did, before he could come home and look forward to Wednesday, and Thursday, where it was much the same thing. He managed to wrench his eyes open, somehow, blinking around the room. The light was a bit much for him this morning, and he had to squint until he got used to it.

He looked to the other side of the bed, seeing Freddie stretching and rolling over, almost onto him.   


“Turn your alarm off,” he yawned, and when John didn’t react fast enough for his liking, Freddie rolled on top of him and reached out to slap the top of the clock. The lovely, expensive clock radio that Freddie had bought him for his birthday earlier that year, and had spent the better part of the last four months absolutely abusing with his fist. Neither of them particularly liked early mornings, but John fared a little better than Freddie did. Well, usually, except this morning, when Freddie rolled back onto his side of the bed and threw an arm over him to cuddle, and he couldn’t quite comprehend the fact that it was morning, or that his alarm had even gone off, and his eyes were already slipping shut again.

“It’s time to get up now, my love,” Freddie’s voice was gentle and crooning, and only inches away from his ear, and he smiled softly when there was the familiar sensation of his lips at his temple. He somehow still couldn’t wake himself up, one eyelid opening just a tiny bit to peer at Freddie, before it slipped shut again. Freddie laughed softly, and he felt him gently blowing behind his ear a few times, before the soothing gesture turned into his best impression of blowing out a cake full of birthday candles, and John groaned and rolled away.   


“Really, Freddie?” he whined, wiping the spit spray from behind his ear.   


“You wouldn’t wake up,” Freddie said innocently, sitting himself up, “you’ve got class in an hour.”

“An hour?” he looked at the clock, eyes widening a bit in panic. He’d set his alarm for six, yet somehow it had just gone ten past seven, and that had him out of bed like someone had started a fire.

“Jesus! Why didn’t you wake me earlier?” he asked, a bit flustered, grabbing out the first pair of trousers he laid his hands on in his dresser, pulling them on.   


“I tried,” Freddie shrugged, getting up and handing him a shirt.   


“I’m going to be late!” he panicked, and Freddie rolled his eyes. He wasn’t going to be late, he was going to be right on time, probably early, but that’s what his Deaky was like.   


“You won’t,” he said quietly, handing him some socks and his hairbrush, watching him run around the room like a headless chicken.

“I made you breakfast,” Freddie added, batting his eyelashes at him. He seemed to calm down a bit at that, and Freddie smiled. He’d definitely earned himself some points there.   


“You did? Oh, thank you love,” he sighed, feeling a bit better with at least that taken off his ever growing mental to-do list. He pulled on his socks and ran his brush through his long hair, it came out a bit fluffy but it would flatten down in time, and his face softened as Freddie bought in a plate of beans on toast and a cup of tea.   


“Did I ever tell you you’re my favourite person?” he muttered, and Freddie smiled coyly, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.   


“Well, yes, but not nearly often enough,” he mulled, handing him his plate, feeling like a very good little housewife indeed when John finished the whole plate, and his whole cup of tea, pulling his socks on and giving him a quick kiss. He hadn’t been that hungry, really, but he knew if he’d be out for most of the day, he needed to eat something, and Freddie had been so lovely in bringing him breakfast, if he didn’t eat it it’d break his heart. 

He ran into the bathroom, checking his hair on the way out, noticing he looked pretty horrible, only just remembering deodorant. Thank god he did, he was already sweating, which was weird. The temperature wouldn't climb more than a few degrees above freezing today, and Freddie had gotten out his winter boots and his biggest, warmest coat when he ducked back into his room for his bag.   


“Honestly, I’d forget my own balls if it weren’t for you,” he gave him another kiss, a bit longer this time, not missing the very confident smile Freddie gave him, clearly aware that he’d saved his arse on yet another occasion. He helped him on with his coat, even offering to tie his laces for him, even though he was more than capable of doing it himself, handing him his wallet as he bent down to give him a kiss goodbye,   


“Thank you, love you, see you tonight,” and he was out the door like that, slamming it behind him, jogging to the bus stop.

  
He’d only just made the bus on time, having to really run the last few yards to make it before it pulled away, and he was panting hard by the time he actually stepped up into the overcrowded bus. This was why he liked leaving early. He could get on a bus, it wouldn’t matter if he missed the first one, there would be time enough for a second, or even a third if he chose, and he’d get a seat, missing all the tired mothers and noisy schoolchildren, and he might even get in a bit of reading if he wanted to, or he could just stare out the window and watch the world roll by. Not this morning, though. No, this morning he was forced to stand at the front of the bus, next to a stroller containing a  _ very _ upset toddler, clinging to one of the handrails for dear life as he squeezed his eyes shut. The light was still really hurting his eyes, and he could feel a splitting headache developing, praying it wouldn’t turn into a migraine. If he started getting funny spots in front of his eyes, he’d have to call Freddie to bring his pills, or get Brian or Roger to bring the van to get him and take him home. He really, really didn’t want it to come to that, but he didn’t hold out much hope.

It was going to be one of those days.

He was trying very hard not to be upset with the toddler, the poor thing looked terribly upset and red in the face, and John felt a bit like crying too. He kept his mouth pressed into a tight line, trying a bit too hard to look neutral, dropping his face a bit when the mother of the baby glared at him. He just nodded quickly, forcing a smile, very glad that he was off at the next stop.

He stumbled off the bus, back into the cold air, very glad that it was quiet outside, even gladder that his lessons today were all theory based, and not workshop. He didn’t think he had the energy to focus on anything without soldering his fingers off.

He barely made it to class, wondering if he should take a seat in the back, deciding that the middle row was less conspicuous, wondering if he could even stay awake long enough to sit through class. His lesson ran from eight until eleven, and then he had an hour for lunch, and then a lecture from twelve until three. He’d pretty much made up his mind that he’d be going home at lunch, he doubted his ability to make it through his first class, let alone lunch, then droning 101, and then a peak hour bus ride home. He realised maybe he wasn’t feeling very well, _duh_ , dropping his chin onto his palm and watching as the rest of the students filtered into the classroom. Maybe if he really didn’t feel well, he could go home extra early. He’d seen other students do it, sometimes they explained to whoever was leading the class that they needed to go to the nurse, sometimes they just left, nobody ever really questioned what was happening. Uni was weird like that.

But, he needed the grades, he needed to pass this unit, so he decided he’d stick around for as long as he could.

It was easier said than done. By eight thirty, he was sweating through his shirt, and he’d started to cough, which was embarrassing, as he kept drawing attention to himself, trying his best to stifle it in his arm. He’d thought it was just a tickle in his throat, but it had moved lower throughout the morning, and his lungs were starting to burn with every breath. His nose was running, too, which was just the icing on the cake. He really should have stayed in bed.  
  
By ten, though, his stomach was starting to hurt a bit, and he could feel his breakfast sitting awkwardly in his belly, and it was starting to make him panic. He really,  _ really _ didn’t like stomachaches. Stomachaches meant he’d get nauseous, which meant he’d be sick, and he really couldn’t handle that. Ever since he was about twelve years old, he’d been absolutely terrified of being sick, the very thought made his heart race, and even though he hadn't  _ actually _ been sick in about five years, he really was about to have a full blown panic attack in the middle of class. If he was unwell, which there was almost a 100% chance that he was, given his other symptoms, there was a good chance one of those symptoms would eventually be vomiting, especially given how sore his stomach was feeling now. Then again, he did have a tendency to spur on any random nausea he might be feeling by swirling into a panic, and that extra surge of nausea would just make him panic worse. It was a  _ fantastic  _ system he’d worked out for himself.   
  
Before he realised what was happening, he could feel tears prickling behind his eyes, and he grabbed his things and practically bolted from the room. He didn’t know what he was doing, or where he was going, and he found that his legs carried him right to a payphone, in the hall by the door. His hands were almost shaking too much for him to pull out a coin, but he managed, calling the only number he knew by heart.

Please, please be Freddie.

“Hello?” it was Brian’s voice, and he almost had a meltdown. He didn’t have it in him to be polite, and with Brian he didn’t really have to, so he choked back a sob, taking a deep breath.   


“Get Fred,” was all he managed to choke out, clutching the phone so hard with both hands that he thought it would snap.   


“Deaky? You alright? Aren’t you at uni?” Brian asked. He heard Freddie’s voice in the background, saying his name, sounding worried, and he coughed, holding back another sob.   


“Put Freddie on,” he repeated, gritting his teeth, really not wanting to have a cry in the middle of the hallway.

“Alright, okay, he’s going to rip the phone off me anyway-” he heard movement at the other end of the line, and then Freddie’s voice, finally.   


“Deaky, darling it’s me, what’s wrong?” his voice sounded far too worried for the situation at hand, he hadn't wanted to worry him, but right now he didn’t actually care.

“I feel ill,” he whispered into the phone, his legs were shaking so badly he had to lean heavily on the wall. He heard a sympathetic groan, and a whispered curse.

“Oh, darling I didn’t think you looked well when you got up this morning, are you alright?” he asked, his voice was soft and smooth, and just hearing it had his heart rate slowing.

“No, I-I feel like I might be sick,” he whispered down the line, and he heard Freddie suck in a sharp breath on the other end.   


“Oh, alright darling, you’re alright,” he crooned, and John shut his eyes for a minute just to listen to the sound of his voice.   


“Can you sit down? Are you somewhere you can do that?” he soothed. He looked around, deciding he could sit on the floor if he needed to, the cord would reach.

“Mmhm,” he nodded to himself. Freddie couldn’t see him, but he’d understood.   


“Alright, that’s good my love, can you sit down for me?” he asked gently, and John slid down the wall, tucking his knees to his chest to keep his legs out of the way, securing an arm around them.   


“I did,” he whispered, and he could feel himself shaking, despite desperately wanting to stop being silly, snap out of everything, and go back to class.   


“Alright, good, love. Pop your head between your knees, and take a deep breath for me. I want to hear it,” he added the end bit firmly, and John did as he was told, keeping his eyes shut.   


“That’s good, love, nice deep breaths,” he urged, wincing when he heard how wheezy his breath sounded.   


“You don’t sound well at all, sweetheart. I’m sending Rog in the van, do you want me to come, or stay on the phone?” he asked, and John almost burst into tears.   


“I don’t know!” his voice was almost a wail, and he had to drop his head lower between his knees to try to calm himself again.

“Alright, that’s okay, you don’t have to know,” Freddie assured him, “I might stay on the phone, then you’ll have somebody with you the whole time, alright?”

Freddie had seen him have panic attacks before, mostly about this sort of thing, and they were awful. He couldn’t bear to see him cry, it made his heart hurt, and he wanted to be there to hug him, tight, and pull him out of the awful spiral he got himself into, but he couldn’t. The best he could do was to stay on the phone with him until Roger had him safe in the van, and then he’d be safe in his arms again. The line was silent for a bit, Roger had left a few minutes ago and would be there in no time, and Freddie was grateful to be able to hear him taking - obviously forced - deep breaths. It didn’t matter how forced they were, though, he was taking them, and that was all that mattered. He heard the line beep once, then once more, and didn’t hear movement on the other end of the line.   


“Deaky, darling you’ve got to put a coin in,” he said gently.   


“Oh, yeah,” he mumbled, shuffling around on the other end of the line, and he heard a metallic clank.   


“There we go,” Freddie hushed.   


“Did Rog leave?” he asked, sounding miserable.   


“Yeah, love, he left a few minutes ago,” Freddie said softly.   


“Oh,” his voice was quiet at the other end of the line, “I don’t think I’m going to be sick anymore.”

He seemed to have calmed down a lot, and his voice was quiet and breathy and tired sounding, and Freddie smiled and relaxed.

“That’s good, sweetheart. That’s very good,” he said softly, wincing as he heard him cough.   


“Rog isn’t going to be cross, is he? I mean, if I don’t feel… like that, anymore, and he still has to come get me, when I could have gotten the bus,” he mumbled. Freddie couldn’t help but laugh, god, he was adorable.

“No, sweetheart, he’s not going to be cross. You sound terrible, you should be coming home anyway. No boyfriend of mine is going to be on the bus sounding that ill,” he said. John smiled a bit, and they went quiet again.

“Did you feel ill when you woke up this morning?” Freddie asked, sounding a bit guilty, in case he’d missed anything and it all could have been prevented.

“Not really,” he mumbled, “I was just tired.”

“Alright, darling. Rog should be there soon, I told him to come in and get you but he might get lost, you know how blonds are,” he joked, and John snorted a bit.   


“Okay, I’ll go find him,” he said quietly, managing to pull himself back upright into a standing position. His stomach still hurt, only a tiny bit though, and he didn’t feel nauseous anymore, but he was a bit dizzy, and his head was still pounding.

“Alright, be careful please,” Freddie said softly, “I love you.”   


“Love you too,” John smiled, blowing a kiss down the line before hanging up, picking his bag up to go and find Roger.


	2. Home

John found Roger wandering, a bit aimlessly, around the front of the building, very clearly squinting to try to read the signs over the doorways. He rolled his eyes. He really did need to wear his glasses, but if any of them brought it up they might as well have torn their shirts off and beat their chests as well, in preparation for the literal wrestling match that they’d have inadvertently initiated. 

“Rog,” he called, seeing his head whip around, confused expression lifting when he recognised him.   


“Deaks, there you are. Forgot what course you were in,” he lied, walking over to him and taking his satchel off his shoulder.

“I can carry it,” he said quickly, and the blond shot him a look.   


“I’ve been dragged out of bed to come pick you up, if you're not well enough to get on the bus, you’re not well enough to carry twenty seven kilos of shit around,” he went quiet  at that, feeling a bit bad if he had actually dragged him out of bed.

“Honestly, what do you actually keep in here? Bricks?” he scoffed, walking a little lopsided as he lead him to where he’d parked the van.   


“Books,” he replied, peering up at the sign he was parked beneath. It clearly said no standing, but that wasn’t a fight he wanted to start.   


“Yeah, right,” Roger mumbled, “books.”

John quietly climbed into the front seat, a bit worried that he’d get a parking ticket, holding his bag on his lap. He felt ridiculously small, and very grateful when Roger turned the radio down to a whisper. It wasn’t that he hadn’t thought he would if he’d asked, he just didn’t think that he’d do it himself, which was silly. Roger was his friend, he wasn’t going to deliberately do something to upset him. Despite that, John hadn't known him for  _ that  _ long, and he'd be lying if he said he wasn't a little bit intimidated by him.   


“If you think you might-” Roger trailed off, thinking he better not actually say the word in case he triggered him, “just give me a yell, and I’ll stop, ok?” He just nodded gratefully. He was being very kind about everything, again, not that he’d expected he wouldn’t, but Roger could sometimes be a bit, well, abrasive, without really meaning to. He was sweet, but he was full of excited energy and very noisy and sometimes said things without thinking about them. He seemed to be concentrating now, though, which was nice, though he almost felt a bit guilty that he was making him tread so carefully around him.

He was actually okay on the drive home, Roger was driving very carefully to make sure he didn’t jostle his already upset stomach, and he was eyeing him a bit nervously, like he was worried he was going to explode or something. John just gave him a quick nod, and his eyes were back on the road.

He, again, had his bag carried for him by Roger, who hadn’t complained once the entire ride home, which was a nice change. As soon as he’d gotten in the door, he was enveloped in a tight hug by Freddie, arms wrapped around him, squeezing a little bit too hard.

“Deaky, darling, you’re alright,” he gushed, running a hand through his hair, wrinkling his nose for a second, before holding him at arms length by the shoulders and planting a hand firmly on his forehead.   


“Christ, darling, you’ve got an awful temperature. Don’t do anything by halves, do you?” he asked fondly, hands moving to cup his cheeks, lightly stroking over his cheekbones.   


“My poor little Deaks,” Freddie hushed, pulling him back into a hug, having to remind himself that he had, in fact, turned 19 over the summer, and he wasn’t 15, which was how old he'd looked when he’d opened the door.   


“You look terrible, sorry to say,” he cooed, peppering the top of his head with kisses. John didn’t mind, leaning into his touch, practically collapsing against him.

“Right, we’ve got to get you in some nice pyjamas and into bed for the rest of the week, I think, don’t you?” he was speaking more to himself than anyone, but John nodded along with him. He couldn’t think of anything better than just collapsing into bed and sleeping for as long as he possibly could. He was guided to their room and pushed onto the bed, finding it very hard to stay sitting up. He wanted to go right to sleep, but Freddie was doing… something, over on the other side of the room. He didn’t care to find out what, and then he was on his side, feet on the floor, head searching for a pillow. He didn’t find one, but it didn’t really matter, he shut his eyes anyway.

“No, no,” Freddie’s voice came, “sorry darling, but you’ve got to at  _ least _ get out of your jeans.”

He whined a bit, fumbling for the fly, giving up after a minute when he felt Freddie’s hands there instead.   


“You’re completely hopeless,” he scolded gently, helping him wriggle out of his jeans, and much to his dismay, back on with some pyjama pants. No, it was much too hot, and he couldn’t be bothered, and he waved his hand tiredly at him.

“Oh, they’re too long, darling,” Freddie sighed when he stood back and saw the way they fell over the ends of his feet.

“Mum got- got them, she says I’ll grow into them,” he mumbled tiredly, coughing a bit in the middle of his sentence, and Freddie had to suppress a little squeal at the thought, his dear little Deaky wasn’t even finished growing properly yet, and it made his heart flutter.    


“Of course, love,” he cooed, rolling up the bottoms for him, three full times before they were short enough, his heart doing a funny flip when he did.

“What you doin?” he mumbled, trying to sit up to look at him, wiggling his feet a bit.   


“They’re too long, they go over your feet. Don’t want you to slip if you need to get up,” he explained, making sure they were rolled tight enough that they wouldn’t slip right back down, standing back, quite impressed with his work.   


“Alright, a jumper,” he said to himself, and Deaky winced.   


“No, no jumper, sleep,” he moaned, wriggling weakly up towards his pillows, pulling at the duvet.   


“Yes jumper, come on, you’ve sweated through your shirt. One minute,” Freddie sighed, managing to get his shirt off, not sure how he’d get his jumper on without his cooperation.

“Arms up, darling,” he said softly. He just moaned at him and tried to roll over.   


“Come on, the quicker you do it the sooner you can sleep,” he urged. He just sighed, half-heartedly lifting his arms up. Freddie wrestled him into a soft jumper, again, to John’s dismay, noting that the sleeves were also too long, flopping over his hands. 

“We really must get you some clothes that fit, love, when you're feeling better,” he smiled, taking in how incredibly sweet he looked.

“Fuckin’ hot,” he grumbled, pulling up one sleeve sleepily.   


“Thank you, love, but you’re ill,” Freddie grinned. John turned to scowl at him, eyes closed, before quite literally passing out on the spot. Freddie smiled to himself, sneakily taking out his camera, he looked  _ adorable, _ deciding he’d better take a few snaps, just to remember how sweet he looked. The flash didn’t seem to bother him at all, and he kissed his - terribly sweaty - forehead, tucking him into bed and leaving him to sleep.

 

He woke himself up after far too long, coughing and wheezing, blinking around in the dimming light. The sun was going down -  _ the sun was going down? _ How long had he been asleep? It didn’t matter, he supposed. He could smell something delicious coming from the rest of the flat, and despite how terrible he felt, he thought he’d better go and investigate. He got up, managing to shake a bit of dizziness that tried to hinder him, rolling his shoulders. God, they ached, and he had an awful chill running down his spine. He’d been hot when he’d fallen asleep before, and it  _ was _ supposed to be cold outside, so maybe he was actually getting better? Maybe he was just feeling how cold it really was.

He had a bit of trouble with the doorknob, something he didn’t think would be an issue, honestly, before realising that the sleeve of his jumper was over his hand. Oh, that was probably why, then. He managed to win his fight with the door, pulling it open, blinking out into the living room. He winced when the door slammed against the wall, he’d been a bit violent with it, and Brian and Roger turned to look at him from the sofa. The light was still bothering his eyes, which annoyed him to no end, and he squinted at them. He didn’t realise it looked like he was glaring, but it must have, because he saw Roger mirroring him, before raising his hands.   


“What’s got your knickers in a twist, Deaks?” he asked, sliding off Brian’s lap, ugh,  _ disgusting, _ and padding over to him.   


“Nothing, sorry, light’s a bit much,” he mumbled, waving his hand around dismissively. Brian caught Roger’s wrist before he could do anything stupid, or mean, and pulled him back.

“What are you wearing?” John asked softly, eyeing him. He was wearing the most hideous jumper he’d ever seen, red and green with something illegible stitched over the chest. He saw Brian tip his head back and shut his eyes, before giving John a withering look.   


“It’s a jumper and my mum made it, so watch what you say next,” he said, his heated tone not matching the words that came out of his mouth at  _ all, _ and he had to make a funny face to hold back a laugh.

“No, it’s nice, I was just wondering,” he said, stifling a giggle, and Brian’s eyes went wide when he thought he was going to burst out laughing.    


“Roger, we all agree it’s a very nice jumper, please just sit down,” he begged, giving his hand a squeeze, and Roger plopped back down in his lap, folding his arms.

“I like it,” he said, face going dark. Brian shook his head at John, warning him to back off before it got ugly. He gave him a nod and wandered into the kitchen to try to find Freddie. He was in there, of course, where else would the nice smell have been coming from, and he snuck up behind him and snaked his arms around his waist. Freddie jumped about four feet in the air, letting out a little yell.   


“Fuck! Darling you scared the  _ shit _ out of me!” he scolded, and he looked up at him sheepishly.

“Sorry, thought I might surprise you,” he mumbled, taking a step back. Freddie’s face softened, and he pulled him into his arms.   


“What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, half scoldingly, resting a hand on his cheek. He made a face when he realised his fever was still very much there, wrinkling his nose.   


“Didn’t realise I’d slept so long, sorry,” he said, leaning against his chest.

“Don’t be daft, sweetheart, you’re ill. You sleep for as long as you like, only way you’re going to get any better,” he hushed, smoothing his hair. He shrugged, wrapping his arms around his waist. He felt like he needed a good cuddle, and Freddie gave the best ones ever. He could have stayed there all night, and he would have if Freddie hadn’t broken it off first, something he rarely did, dropping a kiss onto his forehead.

“Go get back into bed or rugged up on the sofa. I’m doing soup, but it won’t be finished for about an hour. Are you terribly hungry?” he asked, wincing when he got a good look at his face. He was pale, and his eyes were red and a bit puffy, and he didn’t like the look of him at all. John shook his head. He honestly couldn’t think of anything worse than eating right now, but he knew Freddie was going to make him at least try.   


“No, I’ll be alright,” he said softly, shuffling off to the bathroom. The leg of one side of his pyjama bottoms had unrolled and was getting caught under his foot, Freddie was right, it was slippery, and he had to stop and roll it up so he didn’t trip. He decided he’d better sit down to pee, feeling a little bit dizzy. He paused when he was washing his hands, deciding to wash his face and brush his teeth as well. He felt a bit gross from sleeping all day. The toothpaste didn’t help his sore throat any, and the toothbrush was hurting his gums a bit, which was new. He rinsed out his mouth and opened it to try to get a look at his throat, wondering if he could see his tonsils, frowning when he noticed the insides of his cheeks dotted with tiny white spots. He got a bit worried, then. He’d never seen them before, and he was a bit scared about what they meant.

“Freddie?” he called, wincing at how rough his throat felt, trying not to sound too panicked. He heard a clatter from the kitchen, and rushed footsteps. Freddie almost knocked the door off its hinges with the force he pushed it open with, eyes wide as he entered the bathroom.

“What is it dear?” he asked, sounding a bit breathless, seeming to relax a bit as his eyes settled on John, still upright and intact, standing in front of the mirror.   


“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking a bit sheepish, “I’ve got these weird spots in my mouth, I just panicked a bit.”

Freddie smiled fondly, rolling his eyes a bit.   


“It’s alright love, give me a look,” he hushed. John let his mouth drop open obediently, and Freddie crouched a bit to peer inside, making a little noise.   


“Hm, I’m really not sure sweetheart. Do they hurt?” he asked sympathetically, standing back up. He shook his head no, they didn’t feel like anything. He hadn’t even noticed them until he’d looked.

“Oh, hm. Ulcers?” Freddie shrugged, tilting his head.   


“Have you been overworking yourself?”

He thought about it for a bit. He’d never seen ulcers that looked like that before, but he didn’t have a better explanation. He had been a bit stressed with school, trying to balance it with demanding rehearsals, and he’d been studying very hard. Maybe that’s why he was feeling run down too. He decided it was probably the best explanation, nodding back at him.   


“Well, you’re going to be taking the rest of the week off school, and everything else, and I’ll be taking care of you,” he said firmly. John just nodded, dropping his head back onto Freddie’s chest, feeling a bit relieved. A part of him wanted to argue that he would be fine to go back to school tomorrow, and he’d just push through it, but then a bigger, louder part of him, told him that he needed to rest, he felt _very_ sick, and he’d catch up on his schoolwork in no time. He was bright, and he didn’t have much trouble with his course, he could practice bass in bed, too, it would be fine. Freddie gave him a squeeze and kissed his forehead tenderly.

“Come on. Do you want to go back to bed?” he asked, hands finding their way to his hair to stroke it a bit, frowning. It needed a brush, he’d gotten it awfully tangled while he was asleep. Maybe he’d ask Freddie to do it for him later.

“No, I might sit up for a bit,” he said softly, gently pulling away from Freddie’s grip.   


“Alright, that’s okay. I’ll get you some blankets, and we’ll get you set up with a cup of tea and something for your fever, alright?” Freddie soothed. John was very, very grateful for him, that sounded lovely, and he nodded.

“Good. Now come on, you need to sit down. Oh, and for god’s sake don’t say anything about Roger’s jumper. His mum knitted it for him for Christmas and it just came in the post. He thinks it’s marvellous, but of course neither of them can see past their noses,” he said, and John snorted a bit, nodding. He’d do his best, but it was going to be tough to bite his tongue.   


“Quick sticks, onto the sofa,” he patted his bum, hurrying into their bedroom to grab the enormous pile of blankets from their bed, dropping them over him. He got himself situated, blinking at the ridiculously cheery advert playing on the TV, the light making him squint again.

“Alright,” came Freddie’s voice as he clapped his hands, making them all jump a bit,   


“Who’s for tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hes so tiny ugh  
> I was gonna update last night but I got stoned instead and didn't trust myself to write coherently  
> free mini sickfic of ur choosing to the first person who correctly guesses what lil deaks is sick with love u <3


	3. Spots

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This shit is all just fluff yay for me for not knowing how to make plot happen

Freddie had him set up with a cup of tea and some painkillers, along with a steaming bowl of soup by the time the six o’clock news came on. His nose had been dripping like mad, he’d been through half a box of scratchy tissues, but it hadn’t let up at all, and it was starting to get sore.

“Might have to get Rog to go pick up some things, your nose has gone all red,” Freddie said, sitting down beside him and wrapping an arm around him. John shrugged, and Roger made a noise.

“Why do I have to go?” Roger whined, glaring over at the pair.

“Because. I need to stay here with Deaks, and Brian won't go by the list because he thinks he knows better,” he explained, hand finding its way into John's hair, rubbing at his scalp. Roger rolled his eyes, sliding off the sofa onto the floor like a pile of wet spaghetti with a loud groan.

“Write me a list,” he sighed, “and give me some money. I’m not paying.”

“Of course darling,” Freddie smiled, “besides, you won’t get cold as us out there with your fabulous jumper.” He just hadn’t been able to resist, biting his lip quick as soon as he’d said it. Roger’s face darkened.

“Watch it,” he said, voice grumbling, “do you want me to go out or not?”

“Yes, yes sorry darling, it really suits you,” he said softly, smiling at him. Roger couldn’t tell whether or not he was being serious, and he glared.

“Right. Get me a list,” he disappeared into his room, slamming the door.

“Alright, darling, what do you need?” Freddie turned to John, smiling sweetly. He went quiet at that, just shrugging. He hadn’t expected to have to decide, he thought Freddie would no.

“Um… tissues?” he shrugged, a bit nervously.

“Of course, tissues, what else? Don’t be silly, tell me,” Freddie pressed. He really didn’t know, and he ducked his head, focusing on his soup, trying to pretend he wasn't there.

“Alright,” Freddie sighed, scribbling out a list. John took a few more spoonfuls of soup, it was delicious, and very warming, and made his throat feel a bit better. He peered over when he saw how long the list was becoming, leaning in to have a look.

“What are you writing?” he asked, voice coming out a bit quieter than he’d meant to, scanning the list. Extra _extra_ soft tissues, strepsils, cough medicine - _cherry_ , honey, vaporub - he really was thinking of everything, and he couldn’t think of a single thing that wouldn’t be nice to have, even if he felt a bit guilty for wanting it. He continued the list with mostly food items, some of them ingredients for soup, some were just bits and pieces they needed, and Roger came out of his room pulling on a pair of trainers and his coat, holding out his hand. 

“List,” he said, snapping his fingers a few times, mouth gaping when he saw the length of it.

“I thought you said ‘some things,’ not an entire grocery shop!” he protested, folding his arms. Freddie shrugged.

“He _needs_ them darling, take Brian with you, make it like a fun little date,” he waved his hands around. Brian raised his eyebrows, and sighed as Roger turned on his heel. 

“Thanks, Freddie,” Brian sighed, getting up and going into his room. Freddie just shot him his most charming grin, taking the half empty bowl from John.

“Had enough?” he asked, pulling the blankets up around his shoulders. Deaky nodded, burrowing down into the nest Freddie had made for him. It was quite nice, really. He hadn’t been sick in a while, and whilst it wasn’t exactly _fun,_ it was nice to be able to spend some time just doing nothing for a while. And having Freddie dote over him, that was nice too, though he did that regardless. He watched Roger leave, Brian in tow, both muttering about the list, and Freddie cleaned up after him. He felt a little bit guilty, maybe he wasn’t _that_ ill, but then he tried to sit up and almost fell off the sofa from dizziness, and decided maybe it was okay to just relax for a while. Maybe not the whole week, like Freddie had suggested, but at least the rest of the evening.

He didn’t notice when he fell asleep, he must have been exhausted. He briefly woke when the door to the flat slammed shut, and he heard Roger talking excitedly about something, and Freddie hushing them, pointing to the sleeping figure on the sofa. He just burrowed down a bit further, curling his legs under him, not caring that he was falling asleep again.

 

“Darling, wake up,” Freddie’s voice was soft and low, and he felt him squeeze his shoulder. No, he didn’t want to wake up. He was perfectly comfortable where he was, he could stay there all night.

“I know, I know, it’s very late. You need to come to bed now, or I won’t have any covers,” he coaxed. Damn, he was right. He had them all on the sofa, and there wasn’t enough room for them both. He let out a little moan, stretching his legs and blinking his eyes open. Freddie winced. His eyes were red, and looked a bit gummy, and he wrinkled his nose.

“Oh, love are your eyes sore?” he asked softly, sitting down beside him and helping him sit up. He nodded, rubbing at them with his fists.

“No, don’t rub them, you’ll make them worse darling,” he tutted, holding his hands. John could practically feel the empathy radiating off him, the look on Freddie’s face said it all.

“Sweetheart, you look _awful_ ,” he said, his voice was very quiet now. John noticed that they were alone in the living room, and the TV was off, and he opened his mouth to speak, having to have a second go when no sound came out. 

“What time is it?” he rasped, doing his best to sit up on his own. It wasn’t working too well, he was very dizzy, and he didn’t feel like he could breathe very well.

“Past one sweetheart, come on,” he coaxed, managing to get him standing.

“Do you need the loo before bed?”

John nodded, a bit embarrassed, allowing himself to be lead to the bathroom, trying to shoo him out.

“Honestly, darling, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes. John just folded his arms, and gave him a look, leaning on the wall. Freddie sighed, turning his back, staring at the far wall. John knew he wouldn’t get him to leave the room, so he gave up, deciding it was the closest thing to a compromise he was going to get, deciding to try to stand up this time. It wasn’t a great idea, he got a bit dizzy in the middle, having to reach out to grab the wall, making a little thump, which had Freddie spinning around to grab onto him.

“And this is why I stayed,” he said, holding onto him. He was a bit embarrassed, but he was too tired to be properly mortified, and he allowed Freddie to help him finish up and guide him back to bed. He all but fell onto the mattress, relieved when Freddie pulled the covers up around his chin, kissing his temple.

“You poor darling,” he sighed, smoothing his hair, letting out a little sigh.

“I’ve not seen you properly ill before love. It’s horrible,” he said, sounding like he was on the verge of tears. He managed a little smile.

“I’m fine,” he assured him, finishing off by trying to unconvincingly stifle a cough, not wanting to worry him.

“Mm, you sound fantastic,” he muttered, reaching out to turn off the light and curling up around John. They normally took turns being the little spoon, Freddie usually preferred it, and John didn’t mind giving him a few extra turns, but tonight there wasn’t any debate, and he curled up protectively around the younger man, gently rubbing his thumb up and down his belly.

“Get some sleep my love, and for god’s sake, _feel better,_ ” he urged, gently pecking the back of his neck. John smiled as he shut his eyes, already feeling himself drifting off. 

“Love you,” he mumbled, letting out a little cough, and Freddie’s hand resumed rubbing his belly too soothe him.

“Love you too, darling.”

 

When John woke up in the morning, he knew it was late. He knew he would have missed his first lesson, even if he’d felt well enough to go to it, which he didn’t, if anything he felt worse than he had yesterday. He was grateful that Freddie had let him sleep in. He didn’t even remember his alarm going off, Freddie must have turned it off for him, which was nice. He turned to face the clock, blinking at it. 9:34. Not especially late, then, though he _had_ slept a lot yesterday. His eyes were still sore, and the light streaming through the window was hurting again. _Fantastic_ . He managed to get upright, somehow, dragging himself to the bathroom, past his flatmates in the kitchen. 

“Alright, Deaks?” Brian called, sipping from a large mug of tea, speaking to a very disheveled looking Roger, leaning over an overfilled bowl of frosties. He nodded over at him, and they continued a conversation that he wasn’t a part of, something about course credits that Roger seemed very upset about, and he locked himself in the bathroom. He did what he needed to, wondering if he should have a shower. He'd only showered the night before last, so he didn't _need_ one yet, and wasn’t really sure how he felt yet. He figured it would be pretty bad once he did, deciding if he _really_ needed to shower he could ask Freddie for help later. He caught sight of himself in the mirror as he washed his hands, jumping back a little bit. Not only did he look horribly pale and snotty, but he had constellations of tiny red spots branching out from his neck, all over his face. Fan-fucking-tastic. He’d somehow gotten his teenage acne back, overnight. It probably had something to do with his illness, or the cold weather they were coming into, and he was horribly embarrassed by it. He figured if he brought it up first, it wouldn’t be so bad, that way at least they couldn't tease him.

“I look like a bloody spotty teenager,” he grumbled as he shuffled into the kitchen. His pants legs had unrolled again, and he almost tripped on his way.

“You are a spotty teenager,” Roger said, almost instantly, turning to look at him, eyes widening a little bit, looking him up and down.

“You weren’t joking.”

“What do you mean darling?” Freddie asked, turning around, his face going pale when he saw him.

“Oh dear,” he breathed, “sweetheart you look _horrible_ .” 

“Wow, thanks,” he sighed, taking a seat at the table, dropping his head down onto his arms.

“I _know_ , it’s my acne, I used to have it when I was fifteen or so, and it’s come back,” he grumbled. He heard Freddie snort, feeling a bit annoyed that he was laughing at him, but he didn’t blame him. He looked ridiculous. He felt a hand under his forehead, lifting his head up, and the sympathetic face of his boyfriend staring down at him. 

“Darling that isn’t acne, you’ve got measles,” he said, trying his best to stifle a laugh.

“Measles?” Brian took the words out of his mouth, beating him to it by a fraction of a second, and he saw him coming over out of the corner of his eye, followed by Roger.

“Looks like it, doesn’t it dear?” Freddie turned to look at the two of them. Brian hummed in agreement, nodding.

“Wouldn’t know, I was only about four when I got them. Wait, you can’t get them twice, can you?” Roger asked, stepping back carefully. Freddie shook his head.

“No, dear, it’s like chickenpox,” he assured him, and his face relaxed.

“Have you not had them before, Deaky darling?” he asked softly, running his hand through his hair. John felt his heart sinking, shaking his head. Measles was a _baby_ disease, he was already the youngest, and this wasn’t really helping his case in acting like he was just as grown up as the rest of them. 

“That’s alright, you poor thing. You’ve had them, Bri?” he turned his head. Brian nodded solemnly, and Freddie turned back to his melting boyfriend.

“That's good, then. Me and Kash both had them when we were little, so none of us can get sick again,” he said, sounding a bit relieved.

“Oh you poor thing, your little face,” he cooed, unable to help the smile that was forming on his lips.

“Stop it,” he mumbled miserably, and Freddie clucked.

“I'm sorry I don't mean it love, you know I don't. You just look too _precious,_ ” he cooed, fingers tracing lightly up and down the back of his neck.

“I'm not precious, I look like an idiot,” he grumbled, coughing into his arms.

“Oh stop it you're adorable,” Freddie scolded, wrapping an arm around his waist, “now come on, this can either be quite pleasant for you, or a living hell, depending on your mindset, and how well you cooperate with me.” Freddie hauled him to his feet, sending his head spinning, and he stumbled into the table with a clatter. Brian and Roger were either side of him in an instant, arms out to catch him.

“I've got him, it's alright,” Freddie huffed, trying not to sound too guilty, he really shouldn't have stood him up so fast. He helped him over to the sofa, gently dropping him down, making him lie down and putting the TV on for him.

“It can be just like when you stayed home sick from school when you were little, and I'll take care of everything for you. It'll be fun,” Freddie promised, dragging almost the entire contents of their bed out to him and dropping it onto the sofa on top of him, flitting about, clearly in his element. John wasn't sure what Freddie's absolute compulsion to mother him was about, sometimes it seemed like he actually wanted to _be_ his mother, but at times like this, he really did appreciate it, even if it was a bit over the top. He helped him make another nest on the sofa, this time it was much more comfortable with proper pillows, tucking him in within an inch of his life.

“There,” Freddie folded his arms proudly, standing back and admiring his work. He felt a bit like he'd been swaddled, but it was nice, he could probably sleep away the rest of the day like this.

“Alright. Medicine time,” he clapped his hands, maybe a little too gleefully, rushing off to the kitchen. He could hear rustling around, and he distinctly heard Roger say,

“Not touching that one with a barge pole,” which was fair enough. He didn't care at this point. He felt awful, and despite Freddie's slightly overbearing methods, he was making him feel better.

“Alright,” Freddie's voice filled the room, and he dropped an armful of ‘supplies’ onto the coffee table.

“Firstly, we need to take your temperature,” he said, keeping his voice soft. He didn't protest when he stuck a thermometer into his mouth, keeping it firmly shut whilst Freddie stroked his hair, keeping his eyes trained on the clock.

“That's two minutes,” he took the thermometer out of his mouth, peering at the reading.

“Thirty-eight five. You're not leaving the house,” he said firmly. He nodded, not that he'd planned on it anyway, and Freddie smiled proudly.

“Alright, something for the fever,” he pawed through the pile, pulling out a brand new packet of panadol, breaking the seal. He was about to tell him they had one open in the bathroom, but he'd opened it now, so he kept his mouth shut. He handed him two pills with a glass of orange juice. He took them obediently, the juice hurt his throat, but he didn't say anything. Freddie watched him, looking stupidly proud, both of John and himself, measuring out a capful of cough medicine. It had a big picture of a cherry on the label, and it might've been children's medicine, but he didn't get a good enough look at it to tell. It smelt sickly sweet, and he had the feeling it wasn't going to taste like cherries at all. He coughed a bit while he was measuring it, causing Freddie to eye him, pouring out a bit more.

“I don't think that's how it works,” he said, a bit worried that he seemed to just be eyeballing the measurements. He knew it was only cough syrup, the worst it would do would probably be to make him a bit drowsy, but he wasn't sure.

“Hush,” was all Freddie had to say to get him to close his mouth, waiting for him to be finished apparently psychically deciding what the appropriate dose was.

“Alright, all of that, then some juice,” he said. He frowned a bit, he didn't want more juice, but he took his medicine anyway. He was right, it tasted nothing like cherries, but it was much better than the horrible aniseedy stuff his dad made him drink from when he was little right up until he left home. As soon as it was down, the glass of orange juice appeared in front of his face. He took a sip, feeling his throat burning, hoping that would be enough to satisfy him. It was, apparently, and he set it back down on the coffee table.

“Alright, it's ten o'clock, so you're not supposed to have any more until two, I think…” he mumbled, checking the backs of the boxes and bottles, squinting at the fine print.

“No more than six doses in 24 hours, so… One every four, sounds right,” he muttered to himself, taking a pause to count in his head.

“I'll figure it out later,” he assured him, “how's your throat?”

“Terrible,” he admitted rubbing at it a bit. Freddie gave him a packet of strepsils, strawberry flavoured, which made him smile, and he popped one out onto his tongue.

“Oh! And your tissues!” he remembered, proudly handing him a box. They were the proper luxury ones, too, and he felt a bit spoilt, taking one out to blow his nose as Freddie moved the bin a bit closer for him.

“I don't want to see snotty tissues all over the floor, okay?” he warned. John rolled his eyes, like he would _ever_ do that, but he nodded anyway.

“Good,” he smiled, straightening up a bit.

“You're a lovely little patient. Much nicer than Roger. And don't even get me started on Brian,” he scoffed. John almost wanted to hear the story now, but he bit his tongue. He couldn't imagine Brian being bundled up and spoon-fed medicine like he was, and the thought made him laugh a bit.

“Now, there's plenty of awful holiday movies on, so you should manage to keep yourself occupied,” he said, smoothing his hair down.

“Where are you going?..” he asked, sounding almost a little frightened, and Freddie tutted.

“I'm not going anywhere sweetheart, I'll be here. I've got a bit to do around the place is all,” he said softly, dropping a kiss onto his forehead. John nodded, wiping his nose again, very grateful that he wasn't leaving him.

“I might wait until you fall asleep though, would that be better?” he asked gently. He found himself nodding, even though he felt a bit silly, but it was worth it. The beaming smile on Freddie's face was absolutely priceless.

“Alright, I'll make sure I'm around when you're awake my love. I think you need a cup of tea with some honey in it for that poor throat of yours,” he mused, sucking his teeth for a minute, getting to his feet and pottering into the kitchen. John slipped down into his blanket cocoon, sucking his strepsil and feeling a bit sorry for himself, head lolling to the side to eyeball the TV. It wasn't very interesting, some Christmas nonsense, but he got a bit sucked in, only being pulled away when Freddie came back into the room with a pair of thick woollen socks and an enormous mug of tea.

“Caught you,” Freddie grinned, setting the mug down and sitting back beside him.

“Hm?”

“You were _enjoying_ a Christmas film,” he teased. John rolled his eyes at him.

“Maybe I was,” he shrugged, sitting up a bit for his tea. He saw him take the small jar of vaporub from the coffee table, shifting his blankets a bit so he could get to his chest. He didn't expect him to go in from the other end and grab one of his feet, pulling it out of his cocoon, scooping out a huge blob of the greasy substance onto a hooked finger.

“What are you doing!?” he asked, jumping back a bit. He was all for Freddie wanting to mother him or whatever, but if this was one of his weird kinks, he was going to at least need to _talk_ to him about it first.

“ _Do_ settle down darling,” Freddie tutted. He heard Roger grabbing the van keys, talking to Brian as they entered the room to leave for uni, and he almost wished he was going with them.

“Have fun, Deaks,” he heard Roger's teasing voice, and saw him wiggling his fingers at him with a huge, cheeky grin.

“Good luck,” Brian added, sparing him a wave and a bit of a worried grin.

“Both of you get fucked!” Freddie called after them, hearing the door slam before turning his attention back to John.

“Darling I'm not being funny, but it'll help your cough,” he insisted.

“What will?!” he rasped, still trying to pull his foot away, but he was as weak as a kitten from his fever, and Freddie had an iron grip on his ankle.

“Vaporub on the soles of your feet. I promise. Mum used to do it to me and Kash _all_ the time when we were ill, or when we were just being little shits, I suspect,” he explained.

“You're joking,” he scoffed, giving up on trying to pull his foot away.

“I'm afraid not,” he said.

“I just took cough medicine, and it's not even that bad, just a tickle,” he insisted.

“Nonsense, you were coughing all through the night last night, and the night before,” he said. He gave him an almost wicked grin, smearing the slimy goo over the sole of his foot before he could say anything else, and John grimaced. It wasn't as bad as he'd thought, but it certainly wasn't pleasant.

“And now what? I just leave it there?” he scoffed, frowning at the feeling.

“Yes, as long as you can, anyway,” he rolled one of the socks on over the top, and he wrinkled his nose.

“That really is vile, Freddie,” he frowned.

“I know,” he laughed, almost gleefully, quickly smothering the other sole and pulling the sock on before he could protest again.

“You're an arse.”

“You love me,” he grinned, and John sighed.

“Lucky I do,” he grumbled, watching as Freddie got up to wash his hands.

“I'll make it up to you, darling,” he dropped a kiss on the top of his head as he came back, sitting him up properly for a moment so he could sit under him, getting him settled in his lap with his tea. He let him sip it for a bit, mindlessly braiding a few strands of hair and staring at the TV, waiting for him to be finished. Once the mug was half empty, and he looked satisfied enough, he picked up the jar again, twisting off the lid, causing John to wrinkle his nose.

“I think I've had enough of that for a while now,” he said. Freddie hushed him, pulling the bottom of his jumper up to under his chin, tutting.

“Look,” he pointed to the red, bumpy rash that was developing over his belly and his chest, pulling the blankets up to cover his belly.

“What you doin?” he mumbled, sounding very sleepy, looking up at him with half closed eyes.

“Shh,” he hushed scooping out a decent amount of the salve, gently dabbing it onto his chest. He relaxed a bit when he realised he wasn't going to do anything else strange with it, using his fingertips to gently spread it over his chest, before flattening his palm, rubbing gentle circles.

“Feels nice,” he mumbled, sniffling softly, dropping his head down until it rested in Freddie's lap.

“Sleep now my darling,” he soothed, watching his eyes slip shut, rhythmically rubbing his chest until he heard his breathing even out, his coughs becoming gentle snores.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yahoo its measles. Congration to a_spira and laminy for guessing correctly, if yall have a specific sickfic u wanna see hmu and i'll get cracking on it (plz be as specific as possible if u can, like if theres a certain way u want stuff to happen or something idk)  
> Get vaccinated, kiddos


	4. Distant

John didn’t wake up properly for a long time. Not that he wanted to, really. The brief periods that he was awake were horrible, the rash had spread over most of his body, and it was starting to itch. Freddie didn’t let him, of course, sandwiching his hands between two blankets and tucking them in tightly, making sure he was definitely asleep again before wandering off to do something else. He’d managed most of their laundry, as well as a pile of dishes, but it was getting harder and harder to tear himself away from the ailing figure on the sofa. Despite being asleep, his coughing wasn’t settling down any, and he had to wake him up at two o’clock to give him some more medicine just so he could get some proper rest. John honestly didn’t remember much of it, he was a little bit delirious with fever, and he really just wanted to sleep it off.

He woke properly when Brian and Roger got home, around four in the afternoon, slamming the door. He heard Brian hiss something, and Roger’s voice was low but sounded defensive. The blonde poked his head over the back of the sofa to have a look at him, screwing his nose up when he saw how terrible he looked, moving away. He felt worse than he looked, too. He finally managed to open his eyes and look around, feeling like death warmed up. His cough was progressing into something nasty, and his lungs were beginning to feel thick and phlegmy. He did his best to clear his lungs, but he couldn’t get much up, only a little yellow mucous that had him turning his nose up, screwing up his tissue and dumping it in the bin. Despite the ridiculous amount of covers Freddie had him bundled up in, he was starting to shiver, feeling a horrible chill overcoming his body. All he could do was whine, not being able to find his voice to call out. Freddie was only in the other room, though, and heard him enough to come running into the room.   


“Oh, you’ve woken up, good,” he whispered, conscious to keep his voice low, moving to sit beside him, face drawing into a frown when he saw how terrible he looked.   


“Oh dear. Don’t suppose you’re feeling any better, love?” he asked, face falling a bit when John shook his head.

“Thought as much. Now you’ve only had some cough medicine an hour or two ago, so I can’t give you any more just yet. It doesn’t sound like it’s doing too much to help though, does it?” he sighed. John couldn’t find the energy to respond, only making a tiny, pathetic sound, before shaking his head no.

“Christ, darling, you really sound horrible. I might call the doctor,” he fretted, reaching out to take his hand. John shook his head again, a bit more insistent, eyes pleading, somehow finding the energy to speak.   


“I’m alright. Exhausted,” he managed, head lolling against the armrest of the sofa.   


“Mm, alright. But if you get any worse, it’s not going to be a choice,” he warned. John nodded gratefully, scooting down the sofa a little bit. As much as he liked his personal space, being sick was making him incredibly clingy, and he was feeling a bit touch starved. Freddie seemed to read his mind, moving up the sofa with him, gently laying his palm over his forehead. Despite feeling a bit cold, the cooling touch felt nice, and he let his eyes shut for a moment, before jumping and snapping them open again when he heard Freddie shout.   


“Fucking christ, you’re on fire!” he cursed, hand devastatingly being torn away from his forehead as he searched for the thermometer. It was slipped into his mouth again, and he closed his lips around it obediently.

“I couldn’t get you to take any pills for it before, perhaps I should have woken you up properly,” he fretted, hand going back to his forehead, brushing his hair back gently. John just shrugged, he was feeling very out of it to be honest, he just knew that he wanted Freddie to hold him, and possibly to go back to sleep for a few hours. That clearly wasn’t an option, though, when the thermometer was taken out of his mouth, and Freddie made a strangled noise.

“Forty! That’s worse than before!” he squawked, a look of fresh panic overcoming his features.   


“Fuck, okay, shit. Is that bad? It sounds fucking bad,” he muttered, grabbing for a packet of panadol and a half empty glass of water.

“Can I give you three? I don’t think I’m supposed to give you three, but I’m not sure two will do it,” he was talking to himself, really, not pausing long enough for John to say anything, not that he had an answer for him anyway.   


“Rog!?” he was yelling now, and John thought his head was going to split in two, wincing.   


“Sorry, dear,” he whispered, wincing as he heard a crash from Roger and Brian’s shared room, and the door swung open.   


“What?!” he called back, just as loudly, before wincing when he saw the look on John’s face.   


“Sorry, what, Freddie?” he groaned, staring at him expectantly.

“Oh, sorry, I don’t know I just- you’re sort of doing medicine and you’re going to be sort of a doctor, and Deaks is refusing to go to the doctor so-”   


“Spit it out, Freddie,” he sighed, folding his arms over his chest, quietly looking a bit flattered.

“His fever’s up to forty, now, and I just think that’s too high,” he said quickly, dropping his gaze back down to John, curled up and shivering on the sofa, wincing.   


“Well, while I'm not that kind of doctor,  _ at all, _ that does sound too high, yeah,” he nodded, “not sure why you needed me to tell you that.”   


“I just wasn’t sure, and I panicked, because it was only thirty eight before, and- I don’t know!” he was working himself up now, one hand tightly gripping John's hair, the other  holding out the thermometer towards Roger, though the mercury had dropped way back down by now.   


“Alright, well, start by giving him some panadol,” Roger said, seeming to puff his chest out a bit at being the designated doctor flatmate, entrusted to give medical advice. Freddie nodded, taking his word as gospel, popping two pills into his palm and practically shoving them down his throat. John swallowed them as smoothly as he could, coughing a little bit. Both Roger and Freddie winced at the sound, and Roger recoiled a bit.   


“I know I’ve already had it, but that sounds contagious as fuck,” he wrinkled his nose, bringing the collar of his shirt up over his nose and mouth, and Freddie rolled his eyes.   


“A cold bath might help?” he suggested, suddenly sounding a bit unsure, but Freddie nodded.   


“That’s a fantastic idea,” he nodded, turning to John to try to get him out of his nest. He shook his head desperately, trying to cling to the blankets.

“No, no Freddie please, I’m so cold,” he complained, doing his best to make himself as limp as possible so he couldn’t pull him off the sofa.   


“I know… I know darling but please, I’m worried,” he begged, and try as he might, John just could not resist Freddie when he made that face.   


“Alright, alright,” he sighed, slowly sitting himself up, jumping a little when his back twinged. He probably shouldn’t have spent the entire day curled up in one position on a slightly busted sofa, and the aches and pains in his body only amplified that thought as he got up. He felt like he was eighty, and his lungs felt like they’d been put through a cheesegrater.   


“God, I think I’m dying,” he mumbled, bending backwards to stretch, wincing as his spine popped. Freddie made a noise, and slapped his arm.   


“Don’t do that!” he scolded, giving him a stern look. He shrugged, stretching out, feeling each of his joints protest as he tried to stand.   


“There we go, that’s the way,” Freddie encouraged, slowly pulling him to his feet and into the bathroom. He leaned on the wall, deciding he needed the toilet when he heard the bath start to fill, managing to convince Freddie to wait outside. Well, for two seconds, until he got worried he’d fall over on his own, and walked back in on him while he was in the middle of peeing, only causing him to let out a slightly annoyed noise when he did. He should have known he wasn’t going to leave him alone for more than a second. He was almost glad that he didn’t leave him alone when he finished up and got a horrible lightheaded feeling, and his stomach sank as he had to sit on the floor quickly to avoid passing out.   


“Oh, god, darling what’s happened?” Freddie asked, lunging for him to make sure he didn’t hit the ground too hard. He knelt beside him, eyebrows knitted together, watching his face.   


“Just got dizzy,” he mumbled, tucking his head between his knees. Freddie quietly rubbed his back for a moment, before helping him back to his feet to undress. John caught his reflection in the mirror, feeling his heart sink a little bit. He was absolutely  _ covered _ in spots now, red and blotchy, bleeding together to make one big rash, and painful looking, even if it didn’t feel like much. Beneath it he was pale, with dark rings beneath his eyes, and his nose was bright red, still running with clear fluid.   


“God I look like shit,” he mumbled, letting Freddie peel his sweaty shirt off, feeling a bit like he wanted to hide. His appearance was only making him feel worse, and he was sure his friends wanted to spend exactly no time with him until it cleared up and he looked normal again, and that Freddie was only taking care of him out of obligation, or pity.

“You do not. You’re adorable,” Freddie assured him, helping him with his pyjama pants. He didn’t realise how much he’d sweated, until Freddie quite literally had to peel them off too.   


“I look  _ diseased, _ ” he frowned, folding his arms over his chest. He felt a bit uncomfortable being so exposed when he looked so horrible, and he felt a horrible self conscious feeling gnawing at the back of his mind. Not to mention, he was fucking freezing.   


“To be fair, love, you  _ are _ diseased. I think we’ve established that,” he smiled, taking his underwear down as well.   


“I look disgusting, then,” he mumbled, sounding miserable, rubbing his arms to try to warm up.   


“You’re  _ not _ disgusting, don’t be silly,” Freddie lightly scolded him, helping him step over the threshold into the bath.   


“You’re my perfect little Deaky, and I’d love you no matter how you looked,” he said decisively, gently pushing him to sit down. He squeaked when the cool water hit the rest of his body. No, that wasn’t good at all. He was cold to begin with, now he was so freezing, and shaking so badly, he was worried he was going to shake apart. He curled in on himself, hugging his knees to his chest in a desperate attempt to preserve his body heat.   


“I know,” Freddie sighed sympathetically, using his cupped hands to pour cool water over the rest of his body. John couldn’t do anything but whimper softly, feeling absolutely frozen.   


“I know, I’m sorry, try to relax,” Freddie sounded like he was going to cry, he was worried he was torturing him, which was the way John felt, too, but he was sure he was doing the right thing.

Maybe the bath had been supposed to perk him up and clear the fog in his mind, but if anything, it did the opposite. He found himself unable to do much more than whine periodically and look pleadingly to Freddie as he bathed him, doing his best to wash his hair and soap his body without causing too much distress. His hands were shaking to do much good, though, and he gave up after a single shampoo, trying very hard not to burst into tears when he saw how upset he looked.   


“I’m sorry,” he sounded like he was begging him to believe him, rinsing his hair and getting the softest, fluffiest towel he could find. It was one of Brian’s, but he could just fuck off if he was going to complain.

John was glad to get out of the water at first, but somehow it was only colder once he stepped out into the air. Freddie felt his forehead, immediately distressed to find that he still felt quite hot, maybe a  _ bit _ cooler than before, but not enough to stop him from worrying.   


“Oh!” he sighed, sitting him down on the closed lid of the toilet, working the towel over his dripping hair.

“You need to cool down,” he sounded like he was pleading with him, and John shrugged.   


“Sorry,” was all he managed, feeling like he was in a dream. Everything he did seemed to lag behind his brain by a few seconds, and he just wanted to lie down for a while. His cough was back with a vengeance, not that it had ever left, and the yellow phlegm had turned a bit greenish, and he lazily pulled at a bit of toilet paper to wipe it off his hands.   


“God, darling, that’s horrible,” Freddie gasped, cringing as he watched him clumsily wipe at his hands. If Freddie didn’t know any better, he’d say that he was a bit drunk, but he knew that wasn’t the case at all.   


“Sweetheart, what’s happening? Can you talk to me?”   
John noticed Freddie was at eye level after a beat, and he opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a horrible sounding cough, and he covered his mouth as quickly as he could. It wasn’t quickly at all, turned out, based on the way Freddie was recoiling away from him.   


“Want to go bed,” he mumbled, not managing to find all the words that he wanted to, looking up at Freddie with pleading eyes. If he was honest, he felt a bit frightened, but he was sure that a good night’s sleep would clear the feeling away.   


“Yes, of course sweetheart, I think you’d better,” he mumbled, wrapping the towel around his waist and somehow making it across the flat to their bedroom. He left John on his own for a second to collect the bedding from the sofa, hauling it back into the bedroom and dumping it on the end of the bed. John could hardly hold his head up, he’d managed to drag himself into the middle of the bed and curl into a ball while Freddie was out of the room.   


“No, darling, you need some clothes,” he coaxed, not wanting him to fall asleep, afraid he wouldn’t be able to wake him again if he did. He shook him, having to shake him alarmingly hard to get a response. He was surprisingly compliant, even helping him to pull his underwear and pyjama pants on, leaving Freddie to do most of the work pulling a jumper on, fussing around him and getting him tucked in and comfortable.   


That was the last thing John was aware of for quite a while. The next time he came around, he was in somebody’s arms. The arms were not Freddie’s. He wasn’t sure whose they were, but he was being carried somewhere. It was jostling him, and he was getting quite annoyed, until he was set down somewhere soft, and the world was dark again.


	5. Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boys are dumb and I love them

Freddie had gone to bed when John had, becoming increasingly worried about him. He hadn’t been all that lucid since he’d fallen asleep in the morning, and the way he was behaving before he’d gone to bed was downright frightening. He was sure he wasn’t all there, he seemed to be having trouble speaking, and his cough was the most concerning. He didn’t know when he’d started coughing up, well, whatever it was exactly, but he didn’t like that he hadn’t been told about it.

He couldn’t fall asleep, even when the flat fell silent, because it wasn’t silent at all. John’s breathing was becoming noisier and noisier, and his coughing had become more frequent and wet sounding. He thought he’d woken up, when he heard him moaning softly, but he appeared to at least be still half asleep when he didn’t respond to anything Freddie said or did.

“Deaks? Love are you alright?” he whispered, propping himself up a bit to look at him. His eyes were half closed, and his hand was at his chest. He moaned again, letting out a little, weak sounding,   


“Ow,” and another, louder cough.

“Oh, love is your chest sore?” he asked sympathetically, gently squeezing his shoulder. He didn’t answer, or even seem to acknowledge that he was there, sucking in a wheezing breath, before his breaths seemed to stop altogether for a moment.   


“Shit! Deaks?!” Freddie was bolt upright then, shaking him a bit harder and flicking his lamp on, blinking a few times to adjust to the light, peering down at John, curled on his side, very clearly struggling to breathe. The first thing Freddie noticed was the slight blueish tinge to his lips, and that had him up and out of bed like a rocket, banging on Brian and Roger’s door like he was trying to raise the dead, before going right ahead and opening it.   


“Wake up! Now!” he yelled, shaking them both awake.   


“Fuck! Freddie for god’s sake! Piss off,” Roger grumbled, trying to shove him away. Brian gave him a tired, pleading look, before he recognised the look on Freddie’s face, sitting up.   


“What?” he asked, suddenly fully awake, feeling a full body shiver running through him from the panic in Freddie’s eyes, squeezing Roger’s arm to get him to wake up.   


“Deaky’s not breathing!” he cried, sprinting back to his bedroom. He was more than relieved to see that he’d shifted position slightly, meaning he wasn’t dead, and he climbed back onto the bed, leaning over him.   


“He’s what!?” it took Brian and Roger a moment to catch up with what was going on, but when they did, they were out of bed just as fast as Freddie had been. The ceiling light was flicked on, and Roger and Brian were leaning over him too. Brian sucked in a sharp breath, crouching down beside him, and Roger stepped back, looking panicked.   


“Fuck! Is he dead!?” he asked, eyes going wide at the thought, looking a bit like he was going to faint.

“No, he’s breathing, sort of,” Brian said, hand reaching out to feel his cheek, breathing a little sigh of relief.   


“He’s warm, still,” he sighed, straightening up.   


“Rog, go get the van keys and bring it to the front of the building,” he instructed. Roger nodded and ran out, looking more than happy to get out of the room and have something to do. Freddie was practically weeping, letting out a loud noise of distress when John coughed again, lungs sounding rattly and wheezy and wet.   


“He’s still breathing, Freddie. It’s going to be okay, we just need to get him to hospital,” Brian said, ever the voice of reason.   


“Someone’s going to have to carry him,” he added. Freddie choked on a sob, shaking his head.   


“I can’t! I can’t I’m sorry!” he sobbed, and Brian hushed him.   


“I can do it, I think,” he said, slipping one arm under his shoulders, the other under the backs of his knees, managing to scoop him up into his arms. He wasn’t very big, and Brian had the advantage of height, though it was still a bit of a struggle.   


“Right, come on,” his voice was a bit strained, and he shifted him in his arms, very worried when he didn’t seem to even notice he was being moved.   


“I’ll get him a blanket!” Freddie said suddenly, grabbing one from the bed and bundling it into his arms.

“Get the door,” he grunted, staggering a little bit as he walked, determined to get him to the van in one piece.   


“Yes, yes of course,” he nodded, running ahead of him and making sure his path was clear. He followed behind him as Freddie walked backwards, warning him of every crack and raised bit of floor and step in his path.

“Alright, one more step then a flat bit,” he coached, walking backwards down the stairs, watching Brian’s feet anxiously, cursing the fact that they lived on the second floor. John’s eyes fluttered open for a moment as they reached the ground floor and stepped out into the cold outside, and he took a gasping, rattly breath, before shutting his eyes again. That was enough to have Freddie in panicked tears, running ahead to open the door of the van ahead of Brian. He groaned as he set him down as gently as possibly in the back seat, getting in the front beside Roger. Freddie climbed over John, slamming the door shut.   


“Drive!” he demanded, breathing ragged with panic.   


“Where!?” Roger was panicking just as much as the rest of them, turning to look at them both.   


“The hospital, you  _ idiot _ !” Freddie spat, voice thick and venomous. Roger didn’t start a fight, for once, just turning around and peeling out of the car park. It was past two in the morning, he wasn’t exactly worried about catching a speeding fine, but if he did, he was 100% making Deaky pay for it.   


“Please, love, keep breathing,” Freddie begged, leaning over his slumped figure, hand smoothing his hair and tucking the blanket he'd brought up around him to keep him warm. Brian turned to look at him, trying not to fall out of the seat from the erratic way that Roger was driving, for once actually being grateful for it.   


“How’s he doing?” he asked, voice steady but clearly panicked.

“I don’t know,” Freddie’s voice was much shakier, and he leaned his head on John’s chest, wincing.   


“He’s breathing but… I don’t know. It sounds bad,” he whispered, hand squeezing John’s, trying to get any kind of response out of him. He didn’t, and he couldn’t stifle the loud sob he let out. He almost collapsed into himself when he felt Brian’s hand reaching back to squeeze his own, strong and anchoring, and he clung to it for dear life.   


“He’ll be okay, Freddie,” Brian promised, giving him a nod. Freddie hoped to god he was right.

 

Brian once again scooped him up, managing to get him inside the emergency room and into a wheelchair, thanks to Roger’s quick thinking. It was thankfully, blissfully empty, and it only took the triage nurse setting eyes on the younger man to take him straight back, asking the others to wait outside. Freddie tried to protest for a moment, realising that it was wasting precious seconds that could be used saving his dear Deaky, and he shut his mouth, watching as he was hurriedly wheeled off down a long corridor. He was shaking, hard, and he felt an arm wrap around him, turning his head to bury in a blond mop, letting out a little sob. Roger’s other arm wrapped around him, holding him tight.   


“It’s alright, Fred. He’ll be fine,” he whispered, looking up to Brian for reassurance. The taller man reached out a strong hand to rest on Freddie’s shoulder.   


“He’s in the best place for it,” he said, giving him a squeeze. Freddie shivered again, whimpering softly, wrapping his arms around himself.   


“God, Freddie, you’re barely wearing anything,” Roger commented, rubbing his arms to try to warm him up, “you’ll catch your death.” He said it without thinking, wincing when he let out a loud cry. Brian shot him a look, eyes widening, and he winced.   


“He’s right, Fred, you haven’t even got shoes,” Brian commented. He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything, except what was going on behind the blue double doors at the end of the corridor. He saw Brian bend down, murmuring something to Roger, and the blonde fished out the van keys, handing them over to Brian. He then felt Brian’s hand in his hair, patting his head gently, before he turned and jogged back towards the entrance.

“Where’s he going?” Freddie asked, voice quiet and strained sounding.   


“He’s going home to grab some things,” Roger explained, leading him to a row of joined plastic chairs, sitting him down.

“Wait here, okay?” he instructed, going over to the triage window and leaning his head down to speak to a nurse, putting on the best charm he could for two in the morning. Freddie waited obediently, shivering, drawing his knees up to his chest to try to retain some warmth.

Roger trotted back over, looking quite proud of himself, and Freddie was soon enveloped in warmth. He looked up to see Roger draping a white cotton blanket over him, pulling it tight around his shoulders, making sure he was completely covered.

“Managed to get one fresh out of the warmer. I think they’re for hypothermia patients, but apparently I’m ‘quite lovely’, so,” he joked, trying his best to raise a smile. Freddie did his best, but he was sure it looked quite pained, and Roger let his hand drop onto his shoulders.   


“I’ll see if I can wrangle us a cup of tea, shall I?” he offered with a light squeeze of his shoulder. Freddie didn’t move, he was too deep in shock, so Roger pottered about, finding a small room stocked with tea and coffee and biscuits. He was quite sure it was staff only, but he made use of it anyway, making them both, and as an afterthought, Brian, a cup of tea, holding all three styrofoam cups in his hands carefully. He got scolded on his way out, okay, definitely staff only then, but he put on his best innocent smile and nodded towards Freddie, who was huddled up looking like he’d been run over by a truck, and he wasn’t in any trouble after that.   


“Ta da,” he said, setting down the cups on a free seat, handing one to Freddie, digging in his pocket.

“Even nicked some biscuits, if you want,” he offered. Freddie shook his head absently, clutching the cup in his hands for warmth more than anything, staring straight ahead. Roger wrapped an arm around him gently, not sure what else to do, deciding it was the right option when he dropped his head down onto his chest. He gently ran his fingers through his hair, sitting in silence, waiting for literally anybody else, a nurse, a doctor, Brian, anybody, to appear and say something, but nobody did for a long while.

Finally, it was a nurse who appeared to put them out of their misery.

“Hello, are you here for John Deacon?” she asked, looking over both of them carefully. Freddie leapt to his feet, spilling tea all over the floor.

“Yes! Yes we are, where is he? Is he alright?” he gasped, letting his blanket fall to the floor.

“Yes, he’s alright for the moment, would you like to come and see him? He’s asking after Freddie,” she said. Freddie’s insides turned to mush at that, and he thought he might faint for a second.   


“That’s me! That’s me, where is he, show me,” he insisted. She just nodded, leading him down a corridor, holding the double doors open to let them both pass, Roger bringing the stray blanket. He'd put on his best charm to get that, and he might still be cold.    


“Oh, my friend Brian will be back soon,” Roger said quickly, noting that she had to use a code to open the door.

“Somebody will let him in if he asks at the front desk,” she said with a smile, leading them both down to a room, right at the end of the corridor. 

Freddie almost felt too sick to go in, not sure what he was going to see, if he’d look like he was dead, or if he’d be hooked up to lots of wires and tubes, and he was scared. He didn’t know how he’d react if he saw him like that. He looked to the nurse, and she nodded him in the door. He was very relieved to see that he was only hooked up to about three things, a blood pressure and heart rate monitor, which was thankfully blinking away very reliably, and he did have an IV in, though the nurse explained it was only saline and a fever reducer, because his fever had been a bit dangerous and he’d been mildly dehydrated, and he had an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. He looked quite comfortable, really, propped up on two pillows with the bed sitting up a bit, tucked in within an inch of his life, the blanket from home draped over the top. He also noticed, much to his relief, that his lips had returned to their usual pink, and he was a little more alert.

“Freddie?” he croaked, voice sounding sore, a bit muffled by the mask.   


“Deaky, oh, love,” he rushed over to him, practically falling on top of the bed to cuddle him, laying his head on his chest. His heart was beating, he could hear it, in time to the blinking on the monitor, and he could hear his admittedly noisy, but steady breathing, and he felt his shoulders drop.

“You’re alright,” he whispered, reaching up to run his hand through his hair, very relieved to feel that his fever had come down.   


“God, Deaks!” his mood turned then, getting a bit worked up, “don’t you  _ ever _ do anything like that again! We thought you’d died!”

John sank down in the bed a bit, offering him the most innocent smile that he could.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean it,” he said, moving the mask so he could speak. Freddie held it down firmly.   


“Don’t you dare move that,” he scolded, keeping his hand there, “it’s my turn to tell you off anyway. What were you thinking?” he scolded. John gave him a confused look, and he felt Roger’s hand on his back.   


“Er, Fred, I don’t think he did it on purpose,” he reminded him. Freddie turned to shoot him a glare, turning back to John.   


“What did they say caused it?” he quizzed, and he sat up a bit again to speak, trying to move the mask again, earning a head shake from both Freddie and Roger this time.

“Um, they said it’s more dangerous for me to get measles because I’m older and um,” he didn’t sound like he wanted to tell them what was going on.

“And?” Freddie pressed.

“They said it’s turned into pneumonia,” he said quietly. Freddie almost fainted right there.   


“Pneumonia?!” he gasped, clutching at his chest.   


“Pneumonia?” he heard his voice being echoed, turning around to see Brian standing in the doorway, large, stuffed full duffel bag slung over his shoulder. He dropped some slippers beside Freddie, and he slipped his feet into them.

“No wonder you felt so rotten Deaks,” Brian said, approaching the bed to get a look at him.

“You do look a bit better though, I must say,” he said hopefully.

“Yeah, well, they said I just need to finish off this bag of stuff,” he pointed to the IV pole, “and then they’ll give me some medicine to take home, like an inhaler and some pills and stuff.”

“Good,” Freddie sighed, seeming to have calmed down a bit. Brian settled in a padded chair, the only one in the room, so Roger settled in his lap, curling up against his chest, looking incredibly tired. Freddie perched on the bed beside John, stroking his hair gently.   


“How long is the drip going to take?” Brian asked, nodding at the IV bag. John turned to him.   


“They said about two hours or so,” he replied, sounding exhausted now that the excitement had worn off.   


“Ok,” Brian hummed, “might be smarter to just hang around and wait rather than come back later.” Freddie shot him a dirty look for even  _ suggesting  _ leaving, and Roger whined.

“What?” Brian looked down at the pile of blond boy in his lap, and he blinked up at him, looking exhausted.   


“You can sleep,” he said quietly, wrapping his arms around him and sliding down in the chair, trying to get comfortable.   


“Don’t wake me,” he grumbled, looking around the room to all three of them accusingly. He was absolutely horrid when he was tired, and they all knew much better than to wake him up. 

“Don’t worry. I can carry you to the van. Had a go with Deaks, remember?” he smiled fondly and stroked his hair, and Roger shut his eyes and leaned on him.   


“You what?” John asked quietly. Freddie smiled.   


“Oh, it was amazing, he was like a knight in shining armour,” Freddie gushed, “he just scooped you up, just like that, down two floors worth of stairs too. He’s a hero.”

Deaky went a bit red at that, and Brian grinned.   


“It wasn’t that simple, I did struggle a  _ bit, _ ” he shrugged, playing it off. Freddie rolled his eyes.   


“Nonsense love, you were brilliant,” he scoffed. Roger opened an eye to peer at them.   


“I’ll kill all of you if you don’t shut up,” he mumbled, sounding, and looking, ridiculously non threatening. They thought they’d better let him sleep, John too, and Freddie climbed in beside him, curling around him, slinging an arm over him, lying still for a few minutes, just relishing holding him, so,  _ so _ glad that he was okay. He'd honestly thought that he'd lost him, and now that he had evidence that he was alive and kicking, he felt the energy drain out of him like someone had pulled the plug in a bath. 

“Get some sleep, love,” he said, gently stroking his cheekbone with his thumb. John nodded tiredly, raising an eyebrow when he saw Freddie grinning giddily.   


“What?” he asked. Freddie pointed, and he followed the line with his eyes, falling on the pile that was Roger and Brian, both curled up asleep in the one chair, the discarded hospital blanket from before pulled over both of them. Deaky screwed up his face.

“Gross,” he commented, and Freddie slapped his arm.   


“It’s sweet,” he scolded him, “they probably think we’re just as disgusting.”

Deaky nodded, laying the bed down flat and moving over to make room for Freddie.

“I know for a fact that Roger does,” he yawned, lifting his arms so Freddie could snuggle up against him, careful of his IV.   


“Mm. Sleep darling, we’re not going anywhere,” he assured him, letting an arm drape over his belly, snuggling into his side.   


“Alright,” he yawned, letting his eyes slip shut. Freddie kept an ear pressed to his chest, relieved to hear that his breathing was coming much easier now.

“Love you,” John piped up, with the last breath he took before falling asleep. Freddie smiled, looking up at him, wondering just how he’d gotten so lucky, letting his eyes shut for some much needed rest.

“Love you too, darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay endings are bad  
> Imma be taking a short break from this series for the next couple days bc my creative juices aren't flowing at ALL, I've got a bit of Freddie's fic written but its not working for me lmao. Promise it'll be up soon tho  
> Do need to kill this writers block tho so expect to catch a couple one shots and nonsense fics in the next week or so  
> Thank u for reading, commenting and enjoying, love ya <3


End file.
